


Hiraeth

by TexasDreamer01



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Butterflies, Canonical Character Death, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Character Study, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Inspired By Real Places, Literary References & Allusions, Magical Realism, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Not Kingsman: The Golden Circle Compliant, POV Merlin (Kingsman), Resurrection, Supernatural Elements, Time Loop, Welsh Mythology & Folklore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/pseuds/TexasDreamer01
Summary: May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun, and find your shoulder to light on.





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mlraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/gifts).



> "May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun,  
> and find your shoulder to light on.  
> To bring you luck, happiness and riches today,  
> tomorrow and beyond."  
> \- old Irish blessing
> 
> I tried to incorporate many different items from your wishlist, mlraven, and hopefully I've succeeded in at least a few of them. Eggsy here is at his Golden Circle age, so approximately five years has passed since the first movie - that would place him here at about 25. There are a few themes borrowed from the sequel, but mostly stripped of context so hopefully no spoilers abound. This was a whirl to write, thank you for the excellent prompts!

Wales was a beautiful country. All hilly rises soft with a mélange of grasses, the winding waters meandering twixt the hills like the idle, curling fingers of a dryad through a lover’s locks. Merlin sighed, a soft exhalation that was hidden under the sounds of turbulent engines.

These days, there was scarcely time to enjoy the simple pleasures of the skies, nor to witness the beauty of lands that Eggsy – and Roxy – would slip into like an owl in the night as duties pulled them from one continent to another. Rebuilding the Kingsman enterprise was a back-breaking task that tested Merlin’s ability to switch between his historical duties and sharing the burden of Arthur with their new Galahad.

Between the rosy dawn and the ever-present diagnostics, he spared a smile. Galahad had fallen, but Galahad had risen again; the envisioned future Harry had confided witnessing with him, over fingers of whiskey lingering in their glasses as the fires banked into glowing coals. Becoming a Kingsman had done Eggsy good, the donning of responsibility settling well as a mantle upon his young shoulders. With the running hither and thither, their new Galahad barely had time to lose himself in the memories of his inherited home – his mother and sister burnishing the edges in what rooms the spacious mansion were afforded to them.

It had easily been a good half of the home, both of them doffing their coats and rolling up their sleeves to pack away the remnants of their fallen friend. The times where Merlin had paused, some odd or end having found its way into his hands and tugged loose a spool of memories, was tacitly respected with moments of silence from Eggsy and unwavering support in the form of company and nourishment. Such a stalwart manner had struck Merlin as reminiscent of Harry from their younger days, though too annealed by his pre-Kingsman life to fit into the stereotype of naïveté.

Eggsy’s file had been a riveting read, and as he taxied onto the runway with a greeting glare from the morning sun, Merlin mentally paged through the intervening years since the man’s first steps into their tailoring shop. Youth was decidedly not wasted on the young, in this case, a thread of gravity under-woven into his persona of mischief. A request put through shortly after the debacle with Valentine revealed that a brief stint into the military had endured a relaxed version of their new Galahad, something that seemed to have been buried until that fateful favor being called in.

Not for the first time, Merlin wondered upon the hows and whys of Eggsy’s life falling apart the way it had. He was obviously a devoted person, showing an instinctive loyalty to friend, family, and stranger alike – an aspiring hobby as a gymnast that could have, if circumstances were different, seen Eggsy on the international stage to lasting fame. It was an inverse mirror of his current track, showing only the minute, deep prints of Harry for the taste of a more subtle kind of freedom from the shackles of gang-displaced poverty.

Merlin pressed his lips together, relaxing them only long enough to relay with the air traffic control as was expected of him. The touch of grief was as potent as it was five years ago. Harry should be here, witnessing with pride the successes of his pupil, the daring strike of a changing future that Arthur refused to see from his wall-facing cave. He tightened, briefly, his fingers into a white-knuckled grip upon the throttle as ground control guided him to an available parking spot.

“Merlin, have we arrived already?”

He turns, matching the rumpled voice to the equally dishevelled visage of Galahad, amused at the smothered yawn and pillow creases on the man’s face. “Yes, and you need to freshen up. We have an hour to arrive at our meeting point.”

Mumbled agreement met his reminder, and Merlin decided that the coffee wouldn’t make itself.

It was by lucky happenstance that another Kingsman agent had discovered a perfectly miniaturized espresso maker a few years ago. The duration and depth of their missions had converted even the most stalwart tea aficionados among the plane’s frequent passengers, and on a whim Merlin had meddled with it to better fit its duties as a portable machine. He deftly measured out the grounds, tamping and pulling out the first _doppio_ in short order. Necessity had proven him a master of this skill, too, and by the time Galahad emerged looking like a prize rose there was a drink for each of them.

They toasted, each sip blooming across Galahad’s face and bringing alertness with it. He cherished the signs of appreciation that came with it, the espresso always tasting sweeter in the quiet lull of contentment between them. Their mission – on this rare occasion shared as field-active agents – awaited, but for now was merely a thought lingering outside the doors of the plane.

Merlin's empty cup was collected with a quirked smile of gratitude for the breakfast, and he tamped down the flush that came with innocuously drifted fingers over his own. It always felt a little like treachery, the ghost of Harry prickling the back of his neck every time his heart skipped a beat at Eggsy’s humorous quips or the fit of his suit as Merlin followed the trail that Eggsy unhesitatingly blazed during missions.

He muttered something about fetching the required… something, too flustered to remember his own words, and briskly walked toward one of the storage compartments for the parcel their liaison requested. The faint breeze of freshly-applied cologne seemed to curl around him, tangerine, bergamot, and black currant settling under his nose in a teasing lilt that uncomfortably reminded him of recent daydreams.

Passing over the parcel, his polite smile warming at Galahad’s usual gregariousness, Merlin admitted to himself that recent was a relative term. It had started with the usual admiration of an adept new generation of Kingsman agents being brought into the fold, and then somewhere along the way sheer faith had been added into the equation. Perhaps it was the gallantry at which Galahad applied himself to his role, the tempered steel providing the appropriate impetus by which to achieve each mission’s goals.

Perhaps, also, it was the grief they shared over Harry’s death. Merlin had not disclosed that his system was not strictly tied to Harry, and had heard the distraught yelling of Eggsy during the mission to Kentucky. Witnessing the murder of Harry through the deceased man’s own perspective had imbued them with an unequivocally shared experience; he knew that Eggsy shared many of the same nightmares – garbled statements interspersed with stuttered questions and reciprocated, hushed mutters of comfort when they occurred in person instead of over spontaneous phone calls.

He had once heard that the unvarnished truth often occurred at the wee hours of the morning, and experience had found that to be true. Long nights had turned into early mornings over his career, and balancing the transition of Galahad with the future of the Kingsman agency had certainly merited more than enough uneasy, sleepless nights. Eggsy put on a brave face that had transmuted itself into an admirable work ethic that Merlin had drawn strength from many times over the years. He had become an unyielding rock that previously Harry had been, and Merlin spared the fleeting thought that there might be something to the codename of “Galahad.”

Eggsy- _Galahad_ bade him to hurry, and Merlin locked up all the pertinent things in their civilian-passing aircraft, chuckling at the man’s parting remark as the stairs were unfolded for use.

* * *

They had arrived to scope out their meeting point with but a few minutes to spare. With the shuffling of agents still occurring to fill the gaps left by Valentine’s machinations, there was some overlap called for in the higher levels of agents in terms of bureaucracy. This mission was a bit of a vacation for both of them, having decided to leave Roxy to keep the castle running while they were gone.

Five days, a chance to collect some non-urgent but sufficiently vital intelligence that required Merlin’s direct presence, and a stunning scenery in which to conduct their business? They had already looked up a range of restaurants and a clutter of attractions to play tourist in.

He caught Galahad’s smile in the corner of his eye, and tilted an eyebrow in return. The smile grew shy, “Nothing.” Galahad shook his head, and Merlin thought it was more to himself, making him all the more curious, “You’re just smiling, is all.”

“Am I?” He resisted the urge to check if it were true, knowing he was definitely smiling now at the bashful admission.

“Yeah.” Merlin was caught by the wistful look in Galahad’s gaze as he rested his head on the seat’s headrest, “Looks nice. You haven’t smiled like that in a while.”

The remark made him duck his head, face heating. He busied himself with the notes on their liaison, reviewing information he had memorized hours ago. When it was plucked out of his hand, Merlin knew the guise was seen through, and tried for a distraction instead, “I hear there’s a café south of the forest here, it came highly recommended.”

Galahad laughed, and Merlin felt that familiar flutter in his heart at the unrestrained lightness in the sound. “Your coffee is probably better,” The man replied, amusement colouring his casual compliment, “But if it comes highly recommended…?”

“It does,” He assured him, smile returning. It might have been the ease of conversation, or the years behind the repartee, but a laugh followed and was echoed by Galahad. The air cleared from the tenseness brought about from the pale shade of flirtation, and in tandem they caught sight of their liaison emerging from an alley on the other side of the auto-packed street. They waited a few beats, Merlin exiting the vehicle before Galahad, scanning for any potential threats.

There were none, so he crossed the street to their appointed location in a manner timed to coincide with Galahad’s own egress from the rental. The inconspicuous woman was, due to the nature of their occupations, difficult to spot among the myriad crowd of customers scattered about the store. Galahad saw fit to draw her out by drawing attention to himself, striking up a conversation at random with a customer.

Merlin lurked around the corner, content to observe the aisles within his view, one ear on the animated exchange between Galahad and the stranger. In lieu of their difficult-to-spot liaison, he found himself studying the intricate decorations upon the building’s dentil. Moons and wheels, both painted in silver, interspersed each other at regular intervals – it felt significant to him, but was dismissed in favour of their mission.

Galahad’s exuberance was charming his target, and judging by the eavesdroppers lingering within hearing distance, effecting others. He bit back his own interest, turning his attention to the loiterers. Two women stood out; it was a brief sense of unease to recognize the same iconography in one’s jewelry as the store, and Merlin decided that she was likely the owner of this establishment.

 _The other, then_ , He thought, frowning at the amount of focus the other woman was displaying toward Galahad. Slipping down his own aisle, he went unnoticed to their liaison until he had arrived right behind her, parcel crisply snuck atop her presumed purchases. “Olivia.”

To her credit, her startlement was minute to the casual eye. He kept his pleasant, bland smile, in case anyone peered too closely. They appeared both enraptured by the genial man drawing the rest of the crowd’s attention, and she turned her head a notch in Merlin's direction, “James.”

“Send my regards?”

Olivia – for her real name was equally obscured as his – flicked her eyes at the nondescript, brown paper wrapped set of documents that had been agreed upon before he and Galahad had embarked to Wales. “Indeed.” She replied, shifting her weight as if to leave, then paused, “He’s a fine… addition.”

As if summoned, Galahad glanced in their direction, cocking a brow swiftly in confirmation. It was easier to keep the affable expression on his face, expression growing a shade warmer at the sunny smile Galahad made before winding down his performance. A pointed, if polite, push at their liaison’s elbow was a convenient addition.

Merlin was rejoined by Galahad scant minutes later in another aisle, out of the entrance’s way. He had a handful of books already stacked in the crook of his arm, perusing a battered copy of Japanese woodcuts. There was a line of warmth at his side, and he shifted so the book could be better seen by both of them. The hand resting atop his, turning pages as Galahad willed, was gamely ignored in favour of the colourful reproductions.

“How long do we have?” Galahad muttered, brushing just a hair closer than the narrow, book-overflowed aisle dictated, fingers paused in the act of page-turning.

“Wh- what?”

He was given a brilliant smile – and damn that heart of his, _Harry, where are you when I need you?_ – the twinkle in Galahad’s eyes filled with more mischief than he thought the situation warranted.

“You did mention a ‘highly-recommended’ café,” Was Galahad’s casual comment, “Do we have time?”

The dots came together rather quickly, and this time Merlin's breath tripped along with his traitorous, traitorous heart. “All the time in the world.”

* * *

It was a few scant kilometers from the meeting point to the Conwy Falls Cafe, and so Merlin decided upon a slightly more scenic route through the bordering forest. Their rented Nissan was spacious, and the imagined intimacy behind the newly-purchased art book was now as tangible as wisps of smoke.

There was an intensity to Galahad that surfaced only rarely, only when he had a particular mission in mind that might bear only a passing resemblance to his Kingsman duties. Merlin had learned to be wary of such determination, for it was the perfect boundary between the man’s gravitas and passing youth, where radical decisions were made. In a rather uncharacteristic motion – at least for the level of sobriety he currently held – Merlin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Merlin glanced at him, arching a brow, “Two for yours?”

The unexpected reply surprised a laugh out of Galahad, and for a moment he basked in the glow of levity. His smile carried an edge of its own mischief when Galahad looked back at him, loosing a couple of chuckles from his companion. Merlin shook his head, a grin pulled from him with more ease than he usually abstained to.

Eventually, Galahad broke their comfortable silence, propping his head up against a loosely curled fist, “I was thinking what a nice break this is.”

The trees provided dappled shade as they passed into a wilder part of their path. “I thought…” Merlin paused, wishing to answer honesty with some of his own, “I thought that we needed this.”

Galahad hummed in agreement, observing the passing pines as the car ambled sedately through them. “Thank you,” he said, surprising Merlin. There was a lull to the conversation, such that he initially believed it had closed at a natural point, when Galahad spoke again, “I miss him.”

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, riding out the wave of familiar grief, lessened only by the pain he could sense in the other man. _Misery loves company_. “I do, too,” Merlin responded quietly. There was a brief fork in the road, and he followed the urge to turn into it. The gentle susurrus of the trees was a more pleasant background noise than the running engine as he stopped the car, and he was encouraged by the lack of actual tourists to cut the engine.

A confused look met him, and all Merlin could offer was a shrug. “They’ll be open for a while. It’s a lovely day.”

Galahad nodded, and he saw a flicker of that responding spontaneity that made Eggsy a proper fit for the mantle of Harry’s legacy when he popped open the door without question. The smell of well-tended forest filled the gap, and Merlin took in a deep breath, feeling the latent tension in his limbs begin to unwind. He exited the car, too, choosing to use the manual locks instead of disturbing the peace by using the fob.

They met in front of the car, meandering toward each other out of long habit. It was approaching noon, and yet the bonnet was still cool enough that they leant upon it, shoulders brushing against each other in their own quiet susurrus. Merlin didn’t know when he had closed his eyes, but the weight upon his arm made him open them, finding Eggsy’s head resting against him, looking for all the world as if asleep. He smiled, unable to help the fondness the sight drew from him – and feeling content to show it in their solitude, letting the back of his hand shift against Eggsy’s own. The minute shift settled them more comfortably against each other, a sigh emanating from the other man that mingled with the quiet bird calls.

“Harry would have liked this.” This time Merlin was the one who broached the topic of their ever-present specter. Eggsy shifted to attention, though refusing to do more than turn his head in Merlin's direction. Pepper and rose that blended into the undertones of masculine flesh greeted Merlin at the action, the morning’s lighter notes having discreetly faded away. It reminded him of Harry’s own cologne, bringing another barrage of elided memories, his throat closing with habitually suppressed tears.

It took him a belated moment to realize that Eggsy had taken his hand, a reassuring squeeze grounding him. “Did he like the forest?” Eggsy asked, voice quiet in deference. Merlin squeezed back, reluctant to let go, and nodded. “Do you?”

“I… found an appreciation for it.” He replied. Eggsy remained stalwart, and he drew courage from the man yet again, “It was he who drew me away from my little room of computers for Kingsman… who convinced me that life could not be encapsulated in a painting to passively admire.”

Merlin felt more than heard Eggsy’s murmured agreement. A kaleidoscope of butterflies came from a parting of the trees, copper wings flashing as they caught a breeze that lifted them higher into the air. His breath caught, recognizing the _Lycaena phlaeas_ from one of Harry’s shadow boxes, his grip tightening upon Eggsy’s hand. Absurdly, he felt grateful that his old friend’s lepidoptery habit was preserved upon the walls of his home after Eggsy and his family had moved in. Daisy in particular shared Harry’s fascination with the beautiful creatures, something for which he was glad.

“Beautiful,” Eggsy breathed, and Merlin wondered if he had voiced his thoughts. Their gazes met, and he felt electricity spark up his arm at the look in the man’s eyes.

Neither realized that they had begun leaning toward each other until a butterfly fluttered between them. It landed on Merlin’s collar, a huff of laughter escaping Eggsy when he froze as it hopped to his throat, sunning its wings in a leisurely manner. Merlin hoped that neither butterfly nor partner could see his fluttering pulse – it skipped to thundering in half a beat when Eggsy decided to lure the butterfly off him, slipping a finger between throat and insect with a careful, coaxing touch.

The butterfly deigned to be moved, walking itself to perch upon a knuckle, wings fanning out as if in relaxation. He shook his head at the scene, Eggsy’s face a picture of enchantment. It occurred to him that their other hands were still linked together, and Merlin carefully extracted himself from the lax, tantalizing grip, smoothing away the beginnings of concern breaking across the other man’s features by letting his hand drift from wrist to forearm before settling nearby on the bonnet.

It was cozy, and unexpectedly so, to share space so casually. It was, also, unlike their usual mission behaviour – barring only the stressful moments of the past insinuating itself between the spaces of the present like a thorny vine. Merlin thought it was… pleasant, to exist in close proximity with Eggsy without any presupposed intention whose foundation was grief or other miseries.

The butterfly flapped its wings once, twice, and then took off in a lazy swirl to presumably rejoin the others. It was an easy thing to smile, something soft echoed in Eggsy’s own expression at the simple wonder of things.

“I think,” Merlin demurred, “That coffee might be good.”

* * *

The café’s reputation was solid, and between the filling meal, beautiful view, and good company, they whittled away a couple of hours. Eggsy’s good cheer was infectious, and for what had become their usual stand-down routine, had quickly become immersed in a wide range of topics. They trickled out of the establishment with the other customers as it neared closing time, sparing a few minutes to catch up with any news Kingsman or their current liaison might have for them.

Galahad. Eggsy. He sighed, resigning himself to a lapse in manners while they were on this pseudo “vacation”. His laptop was closed with a quiet snick. Hopefully, there would be no acute needs in regards to protocol for the duration of their assignment.

“Alright Mum, I will,” Eggsy said, “Yes, yes, and you, too! Bye, see you soon.”

Raising an amused brow, Merlin asked, “Pebbles?”

Eggsy flushed, a delighted smile on his lips regardless, “Daisy wanted a fairy, but I convinced her a pebble might better like being a pet.”

He shook his head, once again amazed at the machinations of a young child’s mind. Merlin stowed his laptop away in the small hold-all both of them shared for the trip, “I wonder if we ought to see about a butterfly. Add to the collection at home.”

It was a throwaway comment, and to be truthful Merlin wasn’t entirely certain where it came from, but looking up rewarded him with the same fond look he must have shown earlier in their impromptu stop at the glade. Feeling his face heat, Merlin changed the subject, “Well, we’ve got plenty of time to be pebble-hunting, if that’s the case. Is there anywhere you would like to try first?”

Eggsy tilted his head toward his window with a sly smile, where the A5 met the parking lot. “I was thinking we could start here, see where we end up?”

* * *

_One_ pebble had become a handful, and then a pocketful, the longer they walked. Other bits and bobs had joined the collection, from various flowers to carefully-handled beetle carapaces. Each item was carefully tucked away as they meandered through their randomly-chosen path.

It was an interesting way to pass the time, and they periodically compared their loot, bragging about whose gifts would be the best received. They wandered into the forest, looping back onto the public trail several times to avoid getting unduly lost. Merlin, for his own part, had waved over Eggsy to observe a sleeping toad.

“Are you going to kiss it?” Eggsy teased, snorting and ducking out the way when he sputtered indignantly. The red face was, Merlin hoped, inferred as affronted apoplexy instead of his mind tripping into a gutter because of his mischievous friend. He tossed a bit of bark at the other man, just in case.

The poor toad croaked when that incited a round of tag, well-shod feet trampling past its hiding place. It settled back when the ruckus moved away, content to resume its sleeping between bug-catching.

* * *

The friendly chasing had petered off by itself, neither wanting to stray too far from the paths. It was nearing dusk, and a hollow between two trees was chosen, a suitable midway point between the nearest path and the river. Birds and insects alike had started up their evening chorus, the two of them catching their breath.

“You know,” Merlin mused, observing the gleam of the rising moon reflecting off his shoes between streaks of mud, “These aren’t really meant for running.”

Eggsy huffed, dropped the grass he had pulled up within arm’s idle reach, “Gentleman spy, remember?”

He laughed, shaven head thumping against his tree; the tingle that reverberated from it was brushed off, Merlin content to claim it as gamely-won exhaustion. Stretching, he missed the way Eggsy’s gaze lingered, “What say you to a few minutes admiring the trees before heading back?”

Eggsy squinted into the sky, watching as the waxing moon was slowly joined by stars. He stifled a yawn, the weeks of nigh-on incessant action and bureaucracy catching up to him. “A few minutes, yeah.”

* * *

Merlin awoke to the smell of recycled air. It was familiar, intensely so, but not the last thing he remembered. The stark discrepancy immediately put him on alert, and he bolted awake to the sight of… their plane. He frowned.

They were in the air, and he rose from the fold-out sofa, scanning the interior of the main space. Nothing looked, sounded, or felt amiss, except for the glaring fact that he and Eggsy must have fallen asleep in the forest. _Eggsy!_ Alarm rattled through him, but he prioritized finding out who was flying their damned plane – if indeed this wasn’t an elaborate hoax – and trusted in the thin sense that whatever Eggsy’s state, they shouldn’t be far from each other.

He took out one of the hidden pistols, approaching the cockpit carefully. There was no sense in alerting potential abductors to his wakefulness, and quickly undid the safety, listening for any indication of people.

It was silent, in a way that raised his hackles, but he cleared the area as if it were filled with armed individuals – only to be surprised with not a soul in the room. Unnerved, Merlin checked the status of the plane, fingers prickling in shock when he realized that they were somehow approaching Wales, dawn just now beginning her ascent. He shook his head, reflexively glancing up and catching sight of the moon. Its staid presence was soothing, and reminded him that Eggsy was still to be accounted for.

On a hunch, he checked the plane’s only bedroom. Snoring peacefully into a pillow with sheets askew was the man in question. While it did his heart good to see such trust displayed with Eggsy’s haphazard sleeping arrangement, more important matters dictated disturbing the untroubled image. Settling onto the edge of the bed, the same way he had done a hundred times under times of equal emotional duress, he reached out, fingers alighting on one wrist to check his pulse.

Steady, strong, and warm. Merlin exhaled in relief, sinking deeper into the bed. That was ironically what awoke the bed’s occupant, half-spoken concern murmured in his direction. He squeezed the sleep-warmed and perfectly _normal_ hand that reached out to him in reassurance, abstaining from the urge to shuffle in next to Eggsy as if it were only nightmares that brought him there. Nevertheless, Eggsy pushed himself awake and upward, sitting close enough that the sharp vestiges of Merlin's unease were buffed away.

“What is it?” Eggsy asked, worry limning his interrupted fatigue.

Merlin sighed, reluctant to release the other’s hand. Given the lack of anxiety mirroring his own, it was difficult to broach the topic, “What...” He began, hand tightening upon his nearly-forgotten pistol, “What is the last thing you remember?”

The action did not go unnoticed by Galahad, and a sitrep was given, his habitual care deferred. He began to speak, then paused, a frown marring his features, “I remember… a forest? Walking with you, and- pebbles?” Despite the inconsistencies with what the past was _supposed_ to be – another quickly executed mission, their Wales contact arranged at the last minute – Merlin felt a flutter of relief that he wasn’t the only one having trouble matching memory to sequence of events. Galahad peered up at him, “Did we fall asleep?”

“I believe so,” He said. The back-up pistol was heavy in his hands, and he set it in front of them, knowing the only enemy they might have would possibly be impervious to such weaponry. It made his stomach clench in a bout of anxiety, and he ran a hand over his head, “But _why_ remains to be seen.”

“As well as why we’re back here,” Galahad said, cocking his head to gesture about the plane, “What time is it, anyway?”

Merlin checked his watch, realising belatedly that their hands were still joined. Clearing his throat, he announced, “Quarter before five.”

Galahad swore, scrubbing his face. He nodded in sympathy, knowing that they had barely set off from the North American continent a few scant hours before. If there was someone – or, Merlin shuddered to think, some _thing_ – meddling with time in this manner, they would need all the rest they could get.

“Go back to sleep,” He coaxed Galahad, rising from the bed and retrieving the pistol in one motion, “You’ve still got time.”

He fled the gleam in the other man’s eyes, mind scrambling to figure out how to solve this newest, thorny issue. Routine, he decided, reaching for his laptop. So long as there was some structure, they could figure it out.

* * *

“Do you think it’s a bubble?”

The query was casually posed as they loitered near the bookstore, and Merlin glanced at the crowd of strangers around them, a mostly indiscernible mix of locals, tourists, and business people. His memory was good – very good – but last time there was little need to memorize the flux of humanity. His eyes flickered to random pieces of scenery, wondering what would be worth paying attention to, how much had already changed.

“It’s possible,” He admitted, focusing on the bemused Galahad in the passenger seat, “Time warping is a field of physics I rarely delve into, but there has been some talk in recent years how it appeals to technological development.”

Galahad made an interested noise, his own attention split to the masses. It occurred to Merlin that they needed to keep an eye out for their liaison, and he checked the dashboard clock. Still some time to go, and he suppressed a snort. _What a cliché we are_. He shook his head at Galahad’s attenuated attention, continuing their idle reconnaissance of their more pressing issue, “Quantum computing has been considered as a more secure alternative to traditional encryption techniques, yet is difficult to implement.”

He shrugged at Galahad’s unvoiced question, “It uses light as a form of encryption, so the keys would be more difficult to duplicate, but the issues in production have been stalling those pursuing the matter. The ability to have a so-called tamper-proof encryption is highly sought after, and I suppose utilizing quantum states in such a manner could be applied to a singular machine that could…,” Merlin pursed his lips, pondering the connections between the two subjects, “Loop, I suppose, data points? Or bounce between them- in the same manner a program could glitch and reset itself back to a certain point, but reach a stopping point and revert back until the problem is fixed.”

The informal lecture caused thoughtful look to spread across Galahad’s face, “What causes a program to glitch?” He asked, slouching in his seat as the subject ensnared his interest, “Is it a poorly-written line of code, or something?”

“Or something,” Merlin chuckled, “There could be missing lines of code, or a mismatch in an algorithm. Quite honestly, many things can go wrong in a program – sometimes things aren’t compatible in the first place, and you won’t know until you run the test.”

“Huh.” Galahad nodded, and Merlin could see him puzzling out the different conclusions that were possible. Drumming his fingers on the door, staring at some point beyond the vehicle, Galahad asked, “And what if you don’t know the program is glitching?”

Following his gaze, Merlin saw the woman of the hour enter the bookstore, in exactly the same manner as last time. “Well…” He drawled, grabbing their parcel, “I suppose we’ll just have to poke some holes in the code.”

* * *

This time, a more direct approach was decided upon. Between the both of them appearing out of seeming thin air, the poor woman likely had a few years scared off of her lifespan, but their courteous manner smoothed some of the ruffled feathers.

Instead of immediately leaving, Galahad suggested they meander the store – both in case their time in the store was a necessary cog in the machine, and also to observe if any “glitches” occurred due to the abruptly changed plans. It was a fast and loose sort of experimentation, but Merlin agreed that if they were indeed in a bubble, the warping could prove disastrous if not duly, gently handled.

So, they lingered. A sizable pile of books for both of them, and Galahad had the opportunity to chat up the store owner, whom Merlin thought was altogether more mysterious than the usual habits of bookworms merited. He sighed into a book of Celtic mythology procured from a dusty corner, settling down into one of the worn leather armchairs provided to customers.

A couple of the pages were stuck together. Merlin tried to gently peel them apart, not wishing to disturb the ink and possibly tear them on accident. He cursed when a particularly diligent attempt nicked his finger, ignoring the admonishing shushing from other customers in order to nurse the offended digit grumpily. It was to this scene that Galahad arrived, owner in tow.

“I suppose the book won?” He teased, drawing an amused smirk from the woman and a rude gesture from Merlin. Choosing to keep to their names for the mission, Galahad posed the introductions, “Miss Rhiannon, please meet my publication-challenged friend, James. James, Miss Rhiannon.”

Casting a gimlet eye Galahad’s way, Merlin tucked the problematic tome on his arm, offering his unmarred hand for pleasantries. “Miss Rhiannon,” He greeted her, a warm smile on his features as they shook hands. A subtle run of electricity sparked from the woman’s grip to the hairs on the back of his neck, bringing to the fore the edges of a memory. His smile blurred into something more pasted, drawing a sharp eye from Galahad, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your friend was asking about science fiction books,” Rhiannon replied, and there was something about her demeanour that waved red flags in Merlin’s hind brain. Not knowing precisely what avenue this particular danger came from, he nodded agreeably. She smiled, gesturing to the store at large, “Unfortunately, we’re a reseller more oriented toward antiques and anthropological pursuits. I can direct you to another establishment, if you wish? There are several in the area.”

A hunch appeared to Merlin, and he followed it, “Perhaps you could tell us your range of mythologies? Anything local,” He chuckled, “I daresay our friends will start tiring of trinkets as souvenirs; a book is a far more lasting memory.”

Rhiannon hummed in agreement, a pleased expression overwriting the indecipherable one at the beginning of their meeting. For his part, Galahad looked on in polite interest, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders squared. _Down boy_ , Merlin thought fondly, recognizing the pin-drop readiness obscured in the man’s posture. _We’ll get to the bottom of this_.

“We do have a specialty in local mythologies,” She replied, ostensibly oblivious to the nonverbal segue of conversation with the two men. Turning toward one of the other aisles, “If you’ll follow me?”

* * *

Something not quite like dread crawled up Merlin’s spine when he caught sight of one of the books. A silver wheel, pressed into the spine of an old leather tome, glinted back at him. He resisted the urge to swallow, knowing his throat would click with the abrupt dryness he was confronted with. Behind him, Galahad stood unwaveringly at his shoulder, a buffer between him and the rest of the store. Their hostess had disappeared somewhere between directing them to the innocuous, quiet corner of the store and Galahad entering close on his heels.

He preempted the inevitable diagnostic question, “Do you ever get the feeling that a clue is right in front of you, but it’s not one you want to discover?”

Galahad was quiet, glancing at the selection of books in front of them. “Not recently,” The man admitted, and Merlin was struck at the whiff of tangerine that greeted him when its owner came closer. If anything, the smell was a sharper yank to their problem than the likely incessant returning of events. It made him yearn, again, unrelenting in its own way, for Harry to occupy the missing corner of their triad. They made a good team, while they had it. Ignorant of the wandering trail of Merlin’s thoughts, Galahad continued his quiet response, “Do you suppose there’s something to the theme she’s got going on? I didn’t think booksellers marked their books; do you think she wrote that one?”

He was pointing unerringly at the exact book that so bewitched Merlin. Shrugging, shoulders brushing due to their shared proximity, Merlin’s suspicion was quietly voiced, “I don’t know. But it’s a rather convenient mark of coincidence, is it not?”

Of that, they seemed to be in agreement, for Galahad strode forward and plucked the book off the shelf with the same ease one would an apple from its tree. They huddled around it, curious as to the cover’s blank slate. Sensing the mental shrug from Galahad, Merlin took a breath and reached out, turning the cover open. It was an instinctive thing to rearrange themselves around the book, carrying the weight of their respective halves of it.

Merlin ran a finger across the illuminated title, murmuring it along with Galahad, “ _The True Histories of the Cymry_.”

The shiver that ran up his spine seemed to be echoed in Galahad, and their huddling became that of emotional warmth, both overlapping shoulders as well as hands upon the mysterious book. For a moment, Merlin wondered if curses were true, and then wondered if there was a reason to this mission beyond a simple exchange of information.

“Harry would speak of fairies, sometimes,” Merlin divulged, not sure where the words were coming from. Galahad’s- _Eggsy’s_ curiosity was betrayed in the tilt of his head, hair brushing against Merlin's jaw. The tangerine was changing into roses, again, and he wondered if there was significance to that, in light of the too-heavy book shared between them. A beat, and he gathered the nerve to continue his unintentional non-sequitur, “Our names- they come from the myth of the knights of the round table, but he said that originally they were from a Welsh poem.”

“Does this have to do with the Kingsmen?” As soon as Eggsy voiced the question, Merlin instinctively shook his head, catching that the man was already dismissing his own supposition. Eggsy traced the silvery wheel, heavily inked upon the thick page. He shuddered, and Merlin caught his hand, drawing it away from the icon. “Mum would talk about them, sometimes, when I was a kid. Said there was no way to really prove they ever left.”

Merlin found himself nodding, “My mother, also. I suppose saving the world puts the thought away.”

They stood quietly, reminiscing on the stories learned at their mothers’ knees. It seemed a commonality on the Isles – their history half-believed from the shadows of learned incredulity. As one, they chose to rest the book on one of the tables left in all the aisles; Merlin turned to accommodate Eggsy, providing a sheltering wall as the man flipped through the pages.

No index was available, and so they scanned the numerous amount of pages. The text was carefully inked, the author’s care visible in each delicate stroke and consistency in formation. Despite its apparent age, the book seemed timeless, as encapsulated as they currently were. Often, they caught themselves slowing upon a story, reading unhurriedly and murmuring softly to each other as thoughts were brought to the fore by each exquisitely-wrought fable.

Eventually, they surfaced, hours having slid through their fingers from their preoccupation with the stories contained within the silver-illuminated book. There was a peaceful quality to it, the monochrome motif persuading their eyes to catch and linger upon the simply-outlined illustrations. Eggsy stretched, bumping into a yawning Merlin that cupped a hand about his shoulder lest they both tumble to the ground.

Merlin gestured to the chair squeezed into the narrow space of the aisle, “A few minutes, before we start again?”

The resigned double entendre did not escape Eggsy, who tilted his lips into a wry smile. He shrugged, indicating that Merlin should take the honours of the chair, “Sure, why not?”

* * *

This time, it was Merlin who was awoken. He flapped a hand, smacking his knee and the ghostly impression of Eggsy’s head resting against him as well. The sound was muffled by the woven blanket gathered about him, and after a moment he registered the muffled snicker close by.

“Oi,” He grumbled, still decided whether he should turn into the sofa and ignore the man next to him, or let himself be persuaded into rising.

“Good morning,” Eggsy grinned, casually sat in a divot left by his waking. There was no hint of tangerines, roses, or any other damnable elements to the man’s habitual fragrance, and for a moment Merlin was bewildered by the lack of elusive timekeeping. He blinked owlishly, and was promptly handed his glasses. That there was a manual override to the glasses’ offline mode was something Merlin was grateful for, as the sight of a pajama-clad, rumpled Eggsy leaning over him was one he was loathe to share.

It was for but a moment, but he contemplated the instinct to tug the man into a kiss. Merlin blinked once more, glasses notwithstanding, and sat up. Something seemed to amuse Eggsy, for his smile obtained a new, unreadable tint to it. His shoulder was gripped as Eggsy rose from the sofa, wicking away the heat with him as he stood, “It’s a little later this time – I took the liberty of making the coffee this go around.”

A demitasse was pressed into his hands once he swung his feet, and warmth sunk into his bones, more at the action than the actual heat of the porcelain cup. He inhaled the aroma of freshly-brewed espresso, eyes falling shut of their own accord. Much as Eggsy pretended to lament, operating their machine was something both had long ago mastered – it was the simple pleasure of sharing the efforts that he enjoyed, rather than the technique itself. Knowing that this little variation was something to be cherished given the forced monotony of their day, Merlin relished the first, not quite scalding sip.

“Good?” Eggsy’s question was hoarsely voiced, and Merlin quirked an eyebrow at it, wondering if perhaps the man was developing a cold that was being hidden from him.

 _Wouldn’t be the first time_ , he thought crossly, the next sip sliding hotly down his throat. Perhaps next round – god, he hoped for no next round – they would opt for tea. _Do we have herbal tea on the plane?_

Merlin dismissed the thought. They could always buy some in town, under the guise of gently pushing their agreed-upon boundaries. “Of course,” He replied, smiling over the rim of the cup, “How long until we need to land?”

He had the unique pleasure of watching Eggsy stutter, caught off-footed at the permissive comments he was making. Taking a one-handed sip of the coffee, Merlin rose, bare toes curling in the low pile carpet as he awaited a properly compiled answer from Eggsy. His smile widened when the man managed to utter out, “Let-let me go check.”

“Ta,” Merlin toasted his half-empty cup at Eggsy’s retreating form, knocking back the last of it before going to dress. The change in routine was refreshing, and he intended to make the most of this buoyant mood.

* * *

Taking a page from Galahad’s book, Merlin chose to enter the bookstore before their liaison arrived, intending to while away some of their apparently infinite supply of time resuming their reading. It was an itch, the initial off-putting deportment of that handmade volume from last loop indescribably appealing now.

Surprisingly, Galahad took little convincing – they bypassed morning crowd and mystifying owner alike to the same nook from “yesterday”. There was coincidentally nobody in that section of the store, something Merlin was content to not question the gift horse on. Their unusual book was quickly found, a perk that they tacitly agreed was appealing, and laid out on the side table.

The illumination was no less enchanting than last time. Flipping to their last known page, they carried on with perusing the contents. Each fable was as absorbing as the last, both of them drifting together in a pose similar to their previous head-long venture into the fantastical lore of Wales. Their liaison’s appearance was a footnote in their mind, ticking of their wristwatches an easily-forgotten background noise.

Rhiannon seemed to abruptly appear, Galahad stiffening against Merlin’s side as he noticed. Distracted, Merlin adjusted his glasses, a hand on Galahad’s elbow to dissuade him from a witty rejoinder – the prickling was back, and it was then that he realized his free hand was still lingering on the book. Clenching his hand, Merlin withdrew it from the book; there was nowhere to casually rest it, and he let it drift behind him, checking on his hidden CZ 75.

A smile from their hostess dissuaded the forming notion in Merlin’s mind. He frowned, gripping Galahad and tugging him closer, instinctively uncomfortable with the other man being so close to the woman. Thankfully, Galahad seemed to pick up the clues from Merlin’s tensely-wound frame – the slight slump in the man’s posture was a relieving indicator of trust in Merlin’s assessment of the situation, however primed he was to act.

For her part, Rhiannon merely nodded toward the book, gossamer-thin silver jewelry obscured within the curls of her fair hair. Her words were more of a command than a suggestion, “Turn the page.”

Merlin tightened his grip upon Galahad, disquiet ringing through him. He gave her a wary look, glancing at the book – they were at the end of the current story, logotype of what they had only guessed was some substitute functioning as the author’s signature – and he spared a moment to wonder what the next page held that required the presence of Rhiannon.

It was simply designed, the introductory image that accompanied this piece of the volume. An outline of a woman, surrounded by various items. Carriage wheels were cushioned by boughs of birch, entwined by ivy and hiding miniature renditions of spiders. An owl sat by the woman’s side, the decorations providing a haven for both figures as the chapter header. _Arianrhod_ was emblazoned underneath, Merlin noting the care with which the single word was transcribed.

Dragging a finger in the space between title and body text, it felt like static webbed itself around his digit, drawing a headache to the fore. He grimaced, Galahad’s attention shifting to him in notes of concern and incertitude.

“James?” He whispered, grasping at the flimsy cover they had, unwilling to expose more of themselves than necessary.

Forcing his clenched hand to loosen from around Galahad’s arm, Merlin shook his head, ruefully dismissing the underlying question. He believed that this woman, and this story, would be key to undoing whatever had them pinned to one day. Abruptly, Merlin felt a kinship with the dozens of butterflies adorning the walls of Galahad’s home.

The ruse was taken from them. “Myrddin,” Rhiannon interjected, implacable and immovable. “You yearn for the past.”

“The past is the past,” Merlin said just as firmly, tacitly acknowledging the Welsh equivalent of his codename that he and Galahad having come across it in an earlier chapter. He pursed his lips, gaze fixed determinedly upon the intricately-wrought page, “What’s done is done.”

“And yet,” Rhiannon said, drawing closer. Merlin didn’t know who moved first – himself yanking Galahad to his side, arm clutching protectively around the man, or Galahad, using his frame to cover Merlin. Breaths caught in their throats, the woman continued, cryptic smile on her features, “That does not change one’s feelings on the past, does it?”

Sore spot struck, Merlin refused to answer. It was in this that the heedless courage of Galahad came once again to the fore once a target for his determination was focused upon, “Is that why we’re here? Did you do this to us? How do we undo it?”

The impudent, rapid-fire questions were met with an indulgent look. Rhiannon clasped her hands in front of her, looking untouched by the growing hostility she was being met with. “Galahad,” Tilting her head, she observed the younger man, “But not. You are he, though the quest belongs not to you.”

Both men blinked as one, bewildered as to how the woman knew that. Eggsy wet his lips, “Is your name truly Rhiannon?”

Her smile widening, she merely glanced at the neglected book next to them. As one, Eggsy and Merlin followed her gaze, the younger man turning in the circle of Merlin's arm to read the beginning passage aloud:

“ _The daughter of Dôn, sister to Gwydion and Gilfaethwy, she who turns the year, who rules over the births of man, the dead, and time_.”

There was more, but their thoughts had ground to a halt in shock. Eggsy had managed to take a hold of Merlin’s hand, a bruising grip that paradoxically grounded Merlin. He took a breath, sidling closer to the other man, suspicious of how easy it had been to obtain this information. Wondering how to address a real, actual goddess, Merlin defaulted to the standard address of “Ma’am.”

Their hostess nodded in recognition, granting him permission to continue speaking.

He swallowed, throat clicking. Eggsy squeezed his hand, refusing to take his eyes off of the heretofore unknown goddess, a trickle of courage leaking forth in the action. “Ma’am,” Merlin said, “To live in the past is to forsake the future.”

Arianrhod’s response was swift and brooked no dissent. “No.”

Dumbstruck, they could offer no argument. The reply had prompted Eggsy to glance back at Merlin, a million questions in his eyes. He had no answers for them, too occupied with numerous questions of his own. Feeling that his turn at courage – foolhardy or not – was due, Merlin broached the contentious, sorrow-embroidered matter that he had refused to air so flagrantly, “Is this about Gala- Harry?”

Head dipping minutely, Arianrhod acquiesced the underlying concerns, “In a way.” She rested her gaze upon the handwritten tome, a thoughtful look upon her face, “But the future and past are the same; one does not exist without the other.

“Know this, Myrddin,” The goddess warned him, “Neither of you are done with the past.”

* * *

Merlin awoke, a sharp inhale aborting Harry's name from escaping his lips. He scrubbed a hand over his face, blindly seeking out his glasses. Between tearing their gazes back to the book and fleeing the bookstore, barely catching their forgotten liaison and practically tossing the parcel at her, the woman- _goddess_ had disappeared. The knowledge was too shocking to reveal, and at any rate, who could they have told? The hole in the code had been found.

He rose and went to the cockpit, thankful for the miracles of modern Kingsman technology that allowed him to program an automated landing. Staring blankly at the identical dawning sky greeting them yet again, Merlin tried vainly to erase the overlapping images of his Galahads both dying in that same fateful manner several years ago. The rosy hues overtaking the starry night offered no reprieve, and so he stumbled to the plane’s only bedroom, needing a more tactile method of persuasion.

Stretched across the bed in exactly the same pose as every glitched morning they’ve had was Eggsy, recumbent amongst the pillows and duvet as sleep caught him in its web. The details of Merlin’s dream overlaid themselves upon the scene, and his eyes fluttered, attempting to ignore the imagined splatters of blood and bone and brain that so chased him during slumber.

It took scarcely a thought to slip into the bed, mind discontent to stop churning up clips of his most recent dream – and how strange, that this repeated section of time ought to have such variation in their most vulnerable moment – that was not dispelled until he had gathered a drowsing Eggsy into his arms, brushing the man’s brows with a trembling finger until he was convinced that the skin there was whole and unmarred.

Sleep pulled him back under, his last thoughts petering off with the discordant comfort that only one Galahad remained in the cold repose of death.

* * *

Comfortable, and warm, moments slipped through his fingers as he tried to persuade himself to wake. There was a spot of soft pressure upon his hip, a recurring gust of air under his jaw.

Merlin grumbled, inchoate words senseless even to his drowsy ears. He flexed his hands, fingers kneading into warm silk beneath them. The action drew a murmur from the vicinity of his throat, with what he was beginning to realise was a hand upon his hip knotting in the fabric of his pyjama bottoms. Between the sticky tendrils of torporous lethargy and the easy cosiness engendered by the relaxed sprawl of their bodies, it took a moment come to full awareness.

Eggsy had situated himself in all the nooks and crannies of Merlin’s hold, unconsciously reciprocating the despondent grasp Merlin had on him during the wee hours of the morning. The man sighed in his sleep, breath gusting along the valleys of Merlin’s throat. He swallowed, mouth drying at the surprising intimacy of the moment.

Reluctant to disturb the peace, Merlin ducked his head, the familiar – and singular – scent of his friend filling his nose. Though he didn’t dare to press a kiss to the tousled hair, he was content to just… rest like this, recurring confirmation of Eggsy’s living, breathing status lulling him into a doze.

Time seemed truly frozen then, nothing more filling the air than the quiet breathing of both men twixt the low hum of the jet’s engines. It wasn’t until the gentle beeping of his glasses upon the night stand did Merlin rouse himself into a more active consciousness.

They were set to land, the computer informed him, a selection available in the glasses’ corresponding holographic screen for whether he wished to arrive manually or continue on his programmed course. Gesturing within the camera’s view, Merlin let the computer guide them into the Welsh airport. A ping of confirmation later, and he sighed, folding the glasses back onto the table.

“Mmh?” Eggsy asked, twisting his face into Merlin’s collar to ward off the oncoming wakefulness.

Smoothing his hand over Eggsy’s back, Merlin hushed him, “Nothing. Go back to sleep, I’ll wake you.”

He held his breath, feeling the beating heart under his touch, and withheld a sigh of relief when Eggsy slipped back into sleep. This time, it was easy to disassociate between the man draped over him and the one that was likely in an unmarked grave; his pulse still skipped at the tug Harry’s memory made at his own heart, and he contented himself with the company of one out of two.

* * *

They dressed slowly, almost lazily, as they took their time disembarking. Coffee was made between trade-offs with the bathroom, the air in the cabin charged with a new set of underlying, unvoiced opinions.

Landing had woken them with barely a flutter of turbulence – a mark of pride Merlin had for the brilliant minds of Kingsman coming together for their fleet – both of their glasses pinging a notification over their arrival. It seemed they had forgotten themselves, forgotten the unspoken boundaries that defined their friendship. Harry had been their foundation, but in his absence became their uncertainty-obscuring walls. This particular iteration of morning formed cracks in that, a focus on each other instead of the missing angle to their extemporaneously formed group.

It felt strange, but the unsettling notion was, at least for Merlin, how similar it felt to the years of partnership and off-duty friendship with Harry. Eggsy had, perhaps, only tasted a glimpse of it, in the aborted twenty-four hours he shared with Harry as newly-elected protégé and spare conversations stolen between moments of recruiting.

Merlin didn’t know what to think of it, nor if he should. Now that Rhiannon, no- the goddess Arianrhod had revealed that Harry and his inglorious death was the crux of their encapsulation in time, he wasn’t sure how Eggsy factored into this. Surely, if his presence were negligible to the problem, the man would be excluded from the glitch?

Taking a sip from his cup in dismay, Merlin figured that _both_ of them were critical to Harry’s… survival? _Re_ vival? He thought back on Arianrhod’s parting words, wondering if Eggsy, too, had reason to be ‘living in the past’.

What link did Eggsy have to Harry, then, that was so important that a mythological figure deemed this complete rearrangement of the natural order of things an acceptable solution for not just one, but both of them?

A hand on his shoulder roused him from the troublesome thoughts. He glanced up, seeing a concerned look on Eggsy’s face. The man so frequently wavered between the exuberant “Eggsy” that both agents had first met, and the tempered, virtue-striving “Galahad” that marked his employment to Kingsman. The machinations that decided which would be brought to the fore were elusive to Merlin, for they blended into one unique, yet complementary, version of Galahad that Harry had also embodied.

Eggsy was a good fit to Kingsman, and to the role of Galahad. He intuitively understood the fine line between devil’s advocate and that of _chevalier_ , in a way that Merlin often struggled with. Their goals were the same – to preserve peace and mankind – and yet Eggsy’s donning of Galahad behaved as drops of ink onto paper, shaping the renaissance of Kingsman in the way Harry himself had sought during the years of his own service. As the master of technology to their endeavour, Merlin could see how the tweaking to their lines of proverbial code were projected into the future.

They made a good amalgamation of Arthur, Merlin decided, and set his cup on the side table. But it would be better with Harry’s center point to balance them.

“Eggsy,” Merlin greeted him, a softened smile decorating his features, seeking to ease the younger man’s tension. He paused, biting off the noncommittal remark that would derail their conversation before it could start – dismissing their situation, now, would be a disservice. Loosening his posture to something more casual, more inviting, he placed a hand over Eggsy’s. _Once more unto the breach_ , “What do you think Arianrhod wants us to do?”

The question was an excellent segue, parallel to their underlying, personal, distress. Eggsy latched onto it, leaning against the chair Merlin was sat in. He didn’t remove his hand, either, something for which Merlin appreciated – the solitude of the situation was fast forming into loneliness. The solemnity of his question was met with gravity, Eggsy thinking deeply on how to respond.

Despite the eventual need to exit their plane, Eggsy took a moment to respond. “I think…” He stopped, frowning, “I don’t think Arianrhod wants us to do anything.”

Intrigued, Merlin raised a brow, “What do you mean?”

Eggsy shook his head. There was a light in his eye, the same that always appeared whenever he was discovering the solution to a particularly difficult problem. “I think it’s more about what _we_ want. Do you remember, she never said anything about her wishes? She just had us read that book, and showed us- I suppose what she _could_ do.

“She put us here,” He stated, confident of their parameters. Merlin nodded, aware that they needed to define their terms. “And I think it’s an opportunity.”

“For what?” Merlin blurted out, baffled. “We cannot raise the dead.”

The silence that followed that question was rife with an implicit tone. He stared at the other man, dawning realisation stunning him. Eggsy tilted his head, in much the same manner as Arianrhod had in their previous loop, gaze heavy with meaning.

Merlin wanted to tamp down the flicker of hope burning in his chest – there was too much to be lost in such an attempt, especially with such significant proof that myth and magic were as real as the man in front of him. His heart trembled, and he clutched at the hand on his shoulder. “What- what do you want to do?” He couldn’t make the decision on this, too close to the matter, too biased. This was a law of nature that they were breaking – or ostensibly so; Arianrhod sounded confident that was not the case, “Do we return to the store?”

Eggsy bit his lip, for the first time showing hesitancy. It was again a crucial balancing, the edges of Galahad seeping through his nature. After a time, he nodded, taking Merlin's breath with him, “Yes. I think we owe her a proper visit.”

* * *

A mission declared, they scrambled out of the plane, scarcely remembering to rent a vehicle before dashing off all the way to Betws-y-Coed. Forgotten were their original, pre-loop plans, the parcel left unnoticed on the plane. So quick were they that the bookstore hadn’t yet opened, forcing them to wait another hour.

Eggsy had taken the helm on this one, his skill at weaving through traffic a dubious boon to their travel time. The man cursed, fingers clenching into a fist upon the steering wheel. Merlin reached out, soothing his ire. As had become their habit, they clasped hands, out of sight beneath the dashboard.

“An hour,” Merlin promised. Eggsy nodded, rattling in a breath that belied his nerves. It brought a burst of compassion forth from Merlin, and he wet his lips, voice low, “We’ll get him back.”

Galahad nodded again, calm through the stout reassurance. The smile he sent Merlin's way was warm, and Merlin wondered if the stutter of his pulse could be so easily felt through his hand. He returned the gesture, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. _Perhaps that is the magic of Galahad?_ Merlin wondered, _That anything is possible?_

Such thoughts occupied him for the remaining hour, only distracted from them when his hand was tugged, a thread of impatience in the gesture as he was directed to looking at the bookstore. Arianrhod paid them no attention, her motions that of any mortal store owner, preoccupied with the typical morning notions of setting up shop.

They waited scarcely a beat before exiting the vehicle, hurrying heedlessly across the street. It was dim in the store, not all the lights turned on, but by now they knew the way by heart – reaching the cashier’s table at the back of the store and waiting anxiously.

“Do you think she has a book on this?”

This was an entirely new area for Merlin, and so he shrugged. They had tangled together again, each other’s presence warding off the emotional chill of the goddess’ sway over all three of them. He wished mightily for Harry, and for a second fooled himself into believing he could feel that departed presence lingering protectively on their six.

It brought the set of his shoulders down, unconsciously mimicked by the living man at his side. On more even keel, the wait for Arianrhod’s return was less painfully passed.

When she did arrive, it was almost by magic, Merlin unable to recall the motions of her stepping through the door of the storage room. His hand was given a light squeeze, a secret language only now constructed, and with the imagined presence whispered against his back, Merlin spoke, “Good morning, ma’am. Would you be able to help us find a book?”

Arianrhod smiled, “I could, perhaps.”

He nodded, expecting as such, “Well, some direction in the general area, perhaps…?”

An assessing look and reciprocating nod was their answer. The owner was light on her feet, flaxen hair flashing in the dappled light provided by the myriad windows, and they gave chase.

She led them up the winding stairs nestled in a corner of the store, switching on a lamp. The ever-present moons and wheels were engraved into the burnished base, aged birch gleaming with the silver-filled imagery. Merlin followed, Galahads living and lifeless behind him. A sizzle of fear made him reluctant to turn back, an Orpheus seeking the light that stood to lose his love.

As if thoughts were catching, the woman paused, turning to look over her shoulder in a way he dared not. Her smile, rife with secrets, was coloured with amusement. Merlin stretched his hand out behind him, eyes falling shut – briefly – in relief at the warm hand that quickly grabbed his own.

There was a small chamber, one that he was sure was meant to be squeezed into, and Arianrhod stood off to the side of that opened door. He glanced at her, wary, the hand in his acquiring a bruising grip. Arianrhod spoke, the twinkle in her eye at odds with her otherwise stony countenance, “Seek, then, and be found.”

Merlin nodded, and then stole a glance at the man nestled beside him. Eggsy met his eyes, a thin smile to his lips. When they looked back, the goddess was gone. Left in her absence was an isolating solitude.

* * *

Were it not for the suffocating pressure of their newly-chosen mission, Merlin would have deemed the room cosy. Easing the door wider had left him with tingles, something that didn’t dissipate even when he absently rubbed his prickling fingers on the woolen fabric of his trousers. He refused to let Eggsy touch either door or its knob, a forbidding look aimed at the younger man. It occurred to him that the sensation was quite similar to one of their previous yesterdays, when they slept in the woods. Surreptitiously, he checked for any fey creatures.

It caught him by surprise when his affected hand was drawn up, the touch of Eggsy’s hand soothing the impression away, and he was quite sure that the cool-water feeling was yet another figment of his imagination. He curled his hand around Eggsy’s, dismissing the worried look with a wry curl of his lips.

Eggsy looked confounded, and it was then that Merlin realised their close quarters were closer than their professional norm. He glanced down at their conjoined hands, so tenderly clasped, and felt his heart stutter. Flicking his eyes up, the acute wonder at their situation was reflected in the other’s eyes.

“I suppose...” Merlin started, mouth drying. When he wet his lips in an attempt to easy the rest of his sentence, he noticed that Eggsy’s gaze had sharpened upon the movement; he drifted closer, caught in that web of attention, “I suppose this was rather inevitable. Wasn’t it?”

A wetting of his own lips, and _oh, so that’s what that felt like_ , Merlin thought faintly, heart pattering at the image Eggsy presented. He was struck by his epiphany, the pieces falling together at Eggsy’s recent behaviour, and he realised that their enforced proximity in this repeating set of code was an enunciation of what had waxed over the years working as partners. When Eggsy nodded, Merlin leaned down, pressing their lips together.

It was soft, a gentle falling together of what had lain in wait. Tangerines, roses – they all blended together into background music, and he slipped a hand up, tracing a battle-tested arm to cup Eggsy’s jaw. The moment stretched, timeless, sharing a breath in the finite space between them.

“I fell in love with you,” Merlin marveled against the other man’s lips, electricity sparking between them as little kisses were snuck between words. One or the other tilted his jaw, a shuddering gasp as the kiss transmuted itself into something slicker. “Eggsy…”

“I know,” Was the gasped reply, “I know. I did, too.”

Abruptly, it seemed absurd to share such sentiments with the heat rising so encumbered between them. Of one mind, they let go, tugging at clothes in a bid to give themselves- Merlin didn’t know, mind focused only on _more_. Silk caught under Merlin’s fingers, trembling as he sought to undo the tie under Eggsy’s collar. He was interrupted by his coat being pushed off, shelving pressing against his back as he was smartly divested of coat and tie in short order.

He had no time to admire the single-mindedness of Eggsy being directed personally at him, too consumed with seeking out another kiss. Eggsy was quick to oblige him, leveraging himself upward with a hand hooked in the space Merlin’s opened buttons granted him, tugging the man down just enough to meet him.

Resting his hands on the narrow waist before him, Merlin spared half a thought to notice the sensation against the fingers he dug into Eggsy’s back, reminiscent of feather-light touches drifting across the joints. A tongue entered the equation, and he forgot the notion as soon as it was registered, too consumed in learning this newly-revealed side of Eggsy.

There was a moan, muffled as it was by their mouths, and more clothes were shed in this new quest. Merlin dragged his mouth across Eggsy’s jaw, relishing the choked sound the man made when he nipped at the delicate skin under his ear. Hands splayed themselves across his abdomen, and Merlin swore he could feel each whorl and callous upon his skin. He drew Eggsy closer, smirking at the twitch he made when hands drifted lower, a firm hold on the arse in his grasp.

“Hhh-” Eggsy rolled his hips, drawing a moan from Merlin. His voice was quiet, “Hamish.”

His name – _real_ name, not even the coy usage of surname that Eggsy was so fond of in times of what he now recognised as subtle flirtation – caused his heart to skip a beat. It sounded different upon Eggsy’s tongue, melodic in a way he was unused to from English constraints. And perhaps it was from the emotions he could now see were fuelling the exquisite handling of his given name, the love he never saw, too blind by his grief of Harry and his duties as a Kingsman agent.

Hamish pressed a wet kiss to the man’s jaw, feeling the delicate shudder echoed into him, drinking in the affection he could now notice in abundance from the mouth in front of him. The give and take was matched in the rocking of their bodies, a smouldering heat slowly being waved hotter.

A hand was woven about his neck, another fisting in the fabric of his shirt, insistently pulling him closer. Hamish obliged, feeling stripped bare despite far too many clothes still on both of them. He broke the kiss despite the incoherent protestation, smoothing kisses upon Eggsy’s brow in recompense.

Drawing back just enough to look in the man’s eyes, nose brushing nose in a chaste gesture of affection, he shifted one hand to trace it down a thigh. Eggsy shuddered, head tipping back. The heated look in his eyes called to him, permission and challenge tightening his throat. Their lips met again, a rhythm of its own as Hamish felt his way to the man’s buckle – his goal was made difficult with the shudder that was bucked into him, hand skimming the bulge in Eggsy’s trousers and coaxing a moan of anticipation from him.

The snick of belt being undone seemed a signal, the ending of a beginning. Hamish let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding, sliding a finger under the loop in the same move Eggsy had done to him what seemed so long ago. And just like had been done to him, Eggsy’s pulse thundered, a strong beat against his hand. A flush of gratitude weakened Hamish’s knees, that this man in front of him was so very, very alive. It made the absence of Harry even starker, and he leaned forward, breathing in the signs of life and pressing tremulous kisses to Eggsy’s lips, to scatter more across the man’s shaven face.

Hands were smoothed against his flank – Hamish didn’t know if his off-kilter senses were telling him two, or four, but the orienting affection was grounding, causing him to tug at the trousers’ button, sliding the zipper down. He felt more than heard the catch in Eggsy’s breath, the lax opening of his jaw as he accepted kiss after deep kiss.

Instinct was guiding him, experience scant and before now unneeded. Hamish wished for it now, suddenly, the urge to impress strong. His hands lingered instead, dragging pants down and fingers through the curled hair surrounding the tantalizing hardness in front of him.

Eggsy did not push. He seemed content to take whatever Hamish doled out, nails a riveting counterpoint on his sides as they idly left faint impressions, a random pattern to their movement. It was emboldening, this unassuming assurance of mutual pleasure – Hamish circled his hand around the cock in front of him, a shudder following the light pumping of his hand.

“Yes,” Eggsy murmured, flush riding high on his cheeks. He tilted his head, licking his way into Hamish’s mouth, smiling when Hamish figured out that the tangle of their tongues matched the strokes of his hand, gasping as the hand on him tightened.

It accelerated quickly from there, Eggsy encouraging him to tighten his grip. The precome leaking from his cock made Hamish moan, biting Eggsy’s lip at the slickness trickling onto his hand. Such a visceral acknowledgment of their actions had him pressing his hips into the other man’s, hand trapped between them. With a breathless laugh, Eggsy coaxed him out of his trousers, taking pants with him.

They were incognisant of any potential eavesdroppers, too enraptured in the moment crackling between them. There was a whole new world to be discovered, in the sweat-slicked tangle of their bodies. Hamish had the fleeting thought of Harry watching them, a gleam to his own eyes, and moaned, arousal doubling in intensity when Eggsy rocked into him again.

His mind felt scattered, shot through with the melismatic image of his Galahads, newly-formed arousal to both their faces. It seared into his eyes, lingering even when his lids fell shut, head dropping to mouth at the throat so proudly offered on display. Eggsy led this dance, now, and he was content, hushed conversation woven in their actions, their gasps and murmurs pressed into sweat-slicked flesh.

Hamish was hazy with lust. They had agreed, in minute shifts of their bodies and catching of gazes, to make room and handle their fervour in a more accommodating manner. Eggsy’s hands were strong, a sweetness to his smile; the pepper was blooming to Hamish’s nose, arousal warming it into an annotated sandalwood that dragged intimate imaginings of Harry to the fore. He sighed into Eggsy’s questing touch, trading kisses that kept his blood warmed better than any liquor.

Their hands brushing, looping together, to take each other in hand, had his pulse rising in a way that tingled. “Oh,” He said, that bone-deep familiarity alighting upon the brushing of Eggsy’s fingers upon his wrist. It was dumb-founding, that sense of home, “Oh. _Eggsy_.”

The kiss pressed into him, like a stereotype, full of the heavy weight of vows unsaid – _unneeded_ to be unsaid, brushed away the last cobwebs of loneliness in his soul. Like the rising of the sun, Hamish answered that whisper of promise back, leaning into the man in front of him with the innate assurance that he could do so always.

It was a simple, elided matter to stamp his mark upon Eggsy, holding him close as their orgasms ricocheted between each other. The buzzing in his head resonated like a catch, notes picked up and repeated in an unforgettable strain. It pricked at every nerve, balancing that edge of butterfly-light landings and the sharp severing of a suffocating net. They panted, holding each other up, attentive only to the minute signals of their bodies coming down from a high.

Hamish’s heart felt two sizes too big. It seemed the only thing keeping him standing was Galahad, living form and quiescent memory bookending him. Mindful of Eggsy’s burgeoning question, his answer was woven into a wistful shade of a sigh, “I had fallen in love with him, too.”

A nod, processing and accepting in a wave of emotion that stole a stutter of Hamish’s heart, “Did he know?”

In this room, where they stood together yet quite alone, the truth unknotted itself from his grief. “No,” It felt stale, the sorrow old and cumbersome now. Hamish was tired of grieving, keeping his eyes closed against the Harry that couldn’t be there, “If he was, I didn’t know.”

The polished timbre of Harry’s voice, a conglomerate of memories blended into a new hallucination, felt too close to be believed. Hamish kept his eyes closed, dragging the hand dug into Eggsy’ hip up the man’s back. The acquired scars of a Kingsman life were grounding, reminder of a reality that had occurred. He didn’t want to give it up – the years beside Eggsy’s side were cherished, standing equal to his time beside Harry’s. Right now, he didn’t know if anything was possible, with a Galahad to persevere in a quest to the dogged end.

“I think he did,” Eggsy said, quiet in respect. There was one hand tracing idle sigils on his hip, circulating loops that oscillated Hamish between the man in front of him and the potential he still didn’t quite believe of Arianrhod. It was dizzying, to wonder if they would spend eternity in this purposefully-broken set of code, and it was a natural thing to wrap Eggsy into a post-coital hug, arms bracketing the man against him. It seemed his intentions were understood, Eggsy shifting them to rock in calming comfort, “I think he still does.”

He didn’t want to believe those words, but the weight behind them was almost palpable, a tangible reality that tasted impossible and all the more appetizing for it. A thought wormed into his mind, insidious if he didn’t squash it swiftly, “And you?” Hamish asked, dropping the words mellow with understanding to Eggsy’s ear, “Did you love him?”

A rueful laugh, Hamish feeling a bubble of success at the smile forming, pressed close into his chest, “I think I was too young for it, at the time. But if it’s like loving you?” Eggsy paused, a contemplative film to his silence, “Then- then I think I could. If I had the chance.”

A chance. Indeed, if chances were wishes and could but be plucked from the right tree. But then, what else was this, if not a chance? That flicker of hope burning dimly in Hamish’s chest flared at the thought, bringing with it both formless ideas and an ambiguous pull of fatigue. He found himself drawing the mark of Arianrhod upon Eggsy, the self-same tingles that so eluded his comprehension making a return. _Something fey_ , Hamish smiled at the thought, catching Eggsy’s attention.

“I think,” He said, unaccountably buoyant, “That we ought to dress.”

“Lest we be caught with dropped trou?” Eggsy completed his thought, departing just enough to share a snicker. They shook their heads, tamping down louder laughter. “Hey, what time is it?”

The abrupt question was curious, a mood Hamish found himself sharing. Shucking on his shirt, he reached out for Eggsy’s watch-adorned wrist with a grin, turning the man’s hand to better read the face, “Quarter till nine, still quite early.”

He received a smile for the casual intimacy, Eggsy slow in retaking his arm from Hamish’s grasp. The smile to his face felt like a permanent ache, but pleasant in its perpetuity. Happiness – like this, feather-light – was rare, something he didn’t mind nipping at his heels in constant reminder. And if they were forced to spent an unending eternity in this time-place that Arianrhod had sequestered them into, well, Hamish could certainly think of worse circumstances.

It seemed they were never more than an arm’s breadth from each other. Dressing, despite the intermittent watch for accidental guests, needn’t be done with the amount of casual brushing against they both did, but Hamish thought it made the butterfly kisses of affection at the halcyon countenance Eggsy wore worth the purposeful clumsiness between them.

When they discovered the oddity of nobody home, it was brushed off as an inconsistency of their presence, unusual for the hour. Scouting out the water closet in the store’s lower level felt akin to sneaking around, the thrill immature and all the more relished. Hamish caught himself tugging on Eggsy’s unbuttoned coat whenever it felt like a passerby could peek through one of the windows, passing stifled laughter between them at the childish absurdity of their little adventure.

The store appeared built to capitalise upon floor space dedicated solely to the cramming of books upon shelves – the wash closet was as minuscule as the room Arianrhod had directed them toward. A meagre thing as a door was little excuse to separate, still high off the endorphins of their epiphany-coaxed encounter, and they fitted themselves against each other like the clicking of puzzle pieces into a fuller image. Even figuring out the logistical dilemmas of how to operate the faucet acquired the cheerful shades of high spirits, the antiquated separation of hot and cold flows something to be quipped over.

It took barely a thought to convince them that their ordinary plans for the day ought to be abandoned, instead taking advantage of the deserted store by perusing whatever volumes caught their interest. Frequently they were distracted, flimsy excuse found here and there to steal a kiss or trail fingers across whatever skin or limb was in reach.

Oddly, they felt no hunger, despite the hours and activity that had passed. Darkness had fallen, taking with it the reservations of both men to avoid the subject at hand. Propping a hand up to rest his chin upon, Hamish mused, “She never did tell us what was in that room.”

Eggsy looked up from the novella picked up two aisles back, cocking a brow, “She doesn’t seem the type to explain things to us mere mortals.”

It was an ironic truth, Arianrhod’s past behaviour morphing Hamish’s thoughtful mien into an amused smirk. “No, that she doesn’t,” He agreed. A thought occurred to him, and he wet his lips in concentration, humming amusedly at Eggsy’s stare in his peripheral vision as he studied the iconography that so disturbed him their first “day”. The unhurried time spent in the store had revealed little in the way of mythological research, excepting that one exceptional tome which revealed Arianrhod’s identity. “What if we just… asked?”

Blessed be Galahad’s quick uptake, his eyebrows going with it. He turned to where Hamish’s gaze was affixed, joining him in studious thought. Eventually, the man hummed, agreement colouring his tone. Rising, a hand was extended to Hamish, “Why don’t we find out?”

* * *

Arianrhod they did not find, but with an irregular patter to his heart, Merlin suggested that they take advantage of their remaining time before the loop reset – assuming that it did so only when both fell asleep – to take one last drive through the forest. Darkness had fallen, delivering a different view of the Welsh town that so far had hosted them so cordially.

Galahad had once more taken the reins of driving, needing the monotonous activity to settle his mind. It was something Merlin agreed readily to, needing the stillness of being a passenger to work through his own tangled thoughts.

Embarking upon the forest road, Merlin mourned the lack of butterflies that so coloured their first visit. Lulled by the perpetual reminder of Eggsy’s liveliness, even if currently absorbed by brooding stillness that typically characterized a post-mission decompression, Merlin felt himself dozing, nighttime tangle of trees and brush forming a grounding ambiance to rest against.

He was asleep before the vehicle was parked, in the same spot they had first arrived at, where flame-coloured butterflies had danced between them.

* * *

Something had changed, this he knew instinctively. That more than any aberrant sensation of sleeping in a vehicle wherein there was no active mission drug Merlin into alertness. He scanned his surroundings, taking a moment to place the Welsh forest they visited over their yesterdays, rented Nissan an unexpectedly cosy cocoon against the outside world. In the driver’s seat sat his newly-minted, sleeping lover, arms crossed and propped upright in a soldier’s cant to slumber.

He clucked at the poor posture, a ready reprimand for Eggsy to take better care of his youth while he had it, when the realisation of their surroundings slammed into him.

The code was fixed. Or whole, at least – time had resumed itself, leaving them overnight in a Welsh forest they had never stayed more than a few hours in. “Eggsy,” He blurted out, unbuckling himself to grab the man’s arm, “Eggsy!”

Eggsy jerked awake, reaching automatically for the firearm hidden on his person. He aborted the movement when he realized it was Merlin who awoke him, confusion replacing readiness. “Huh, what?” Blinking blearily, he scrubbed a hand across his eyes, conducting his own observations of their surroundings. Merlin saw when the pieces fell together, a sharp look whipped at his direction, “Are we-”

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed, “Or at least, I think so.”

It occurred to them to check the internet, some sort of proof that the bubble was indeed broken. Merlin grimaced, reflexive tugging of heartstrings by memories of Harry greeting him with that familiar ache, retrieving his notepad and connecting it to his glasses. A gasp from Galahad confirmed to him the proof seen by his own eyes – their future had indeed restarted itself, whatever bug in the code having been corrected without their knowledge.

An incoming call rung through, the noise rousing an annoyed grumble from the backseat. They startled, both jumping with swears of choice. Galahad, for it was his call, had slapped the reject button with an impertinent gesture, other hand already drawing his weapon as he turned to the backseat, Merlin following only a beat behind.

“H-H-Harry!” Astonished, Eggsy gaped, forgetting for a moment that his pistol was aimed at their unexpected passenger. Merlin plucked it from his lax grasp, defaulting to damage control when frazzled. “God, Harry. That _is_ you, Harry, isn’t it?”

A silver-gleamed eye was peeled open, spitting image of the same late Harry Hart who had died so unceremoniously. Their hackles rose at the inconsistency, dissolving only when the other eye was opened to the natural brown they were accustomed to – that it was only the left, previously and fatally damaged eye that had attained a silver cast made Eggsy and Merlin share a loaded glance about the apparent Harry. The same man before them who had, apparently, also reappeared in the same abrupt manner. “Did anyone teach you not to point that at people?” Harry rasped, as if unused to speaking, “Or do you intend to shoot me?”

The dry remark, so characteristically Harry, brought a choked laugh from Merlin. Eggsy had stifled a sob, clapping a hand to his mouth in a gesture that echoed his reaction to Harry’s death in Kentucky. “God, Harry,” Eggsy exclaimed. He unbuckled himself from his seat, climbing into the back in a disorganized movement fuelled by the need to confirm what his senses were telling him, “Harry. God.”

“Goddess,” Merlin quipped, stunned. A bewildered look was thrown his direction by Harry from between the clinging hug Eggsy had wrapped him in. The man mouthed the word back at Merlin, struggling to get an arm out from underneath Eggsy’s hold to gesture for an explanation.

Feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu, Merlin leaned forward, asking him, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Harry curled his arms around Eggsy, persuading them to sit upright. The thoughtful expression was so familiar Merlin felt a little like crying. “I remember...” He frowned, then flushed, “I-I’m not sure if I’m remembering correctly. Had the both of you… er, I suppose-”

He swallowed, a stricken expression at odds with the rosy tint to his cheeks. Merlin abruptly remembered flickers of his and Eggsy’s time “yesterday” – and now truly _yesterday_ – and the sporadic imaginings of Harry around them. “Ah,” He said, feeling abashed, “Was it perhaps a very small room with lots of books, and… the door left open?”

Eggsy loosened his white-knuckled grip upon Harry, popping his head around where it had been pressed against the side of Harry’s own. He glanced between the two of them, eyes widening when he saw the particular nuances to their expressions. In a manoeuvre that showed Eggsy was on the guidelines side of recklessness, he cupped Harry’s face and kissed him.

It spoke to their situations when the recently-revived man did not so much startle as melt into the touch. Merlin felt his throat dry, both of his Galahads melding into each other with simple sensuousness. Harry clutched at Eggsy, the gesture encouraging Eggsy plenty into deepening the kiss unto moan, then pulling back in reluctant increments to turn in Merlin’s direction.

“It’s him,” Eggsy said, flush with joy.

This time, tears did flow down Merlin’s face. But this time, both Galahads reached toward him, sweetly-spoken renditions of his name matched with a very real, very alive pair of men. Glancing off the windshield, unnoticed, was a kaleidoscope of butterflies, the copper of their wings glowing like fire in the dawning sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> Chosen tropes (to varying degrees of inclusion):  
>   
> 
> 
>   * Bringing someone back to life constitutes marriage
>   * Resurrection Ritual Requires Marriage 
>   * Resurrection Sex Spell Gone Wrong Results in Unbreakable Magical Marriage Bond
>   * Enjoying Watching Spouse Being Fucked By a Third Party
>   * Adding another partner to a marriage
>   * People Stuck in Time Loop Get Married and then Time Loop Ends Unexpectedly
> 

> 
> _Lycaena phlaeas_ (from [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lycaena_phlaeas)):  
>   
> 
>
>>   
> _**Lycaena phlaeas**_ , the **small copper** , **American copper** , or **common copper** , is a butterfly of the Lycaenids or gossamer-winged butterfly family. According to Guppy and Shepard (2001), its specific name phlaeas is said to be derived either from the Greek _phlego_ , "to burn up" or from the Latin _floreo_ , "to flourish".
> 
>   
> The recurring fragrance theme was quite accidental, however it's a happy coincidence that the one I ultimately chose ([Lacoste Essential Eau de Toilette](https://www.notino.co.uk/lacoste/essential-eau-de-toilette-for-men/)) debuted at the same time the Golden Circle did. It's been frequently reviewed on the internet as going through all notes within the span of a few hours, so that gives some sort of measuring stick to the scenes.
> 
> Excepting the bookstore, most all of these places are real! You can find the exact spot in two of the forest scenes in Gwydir Forest Park [here](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Gwydir+Forest+Park/@53.080523,-3.8044707,193m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m15!1m9!2m8!1sforest!3m6!1sforest!2sWales,+UK!3s0x486434b66c1c0fed:0x1ebb71bc8aa5e8a2!4m2!1d-3.7837117!2d52.1306607!3m4!1s0x0:0xc654f24140790902!8m2!3d53.0488241!4d-3.8316536?hl=en), as well as Conwy Falls Cafe [official website](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Conwy+Falls+Cafe/@53.0770168,-3.8510732,8869m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m15!1m9!2m8!1sforest!3m6!1sforest!2sWales,+UK!3s0x486434b66c1c0fed:0x1ebb71bc8aa5e8a2!4m2!1d-3.7837117!2d52.1306607!3m4!1s0x0:0x1e7a81ab830adb30!8m2!3d53.0657571!4d-3.7760782?hl=en), and the town of [Betws-y-Coed](http://www.betws-y-coed.com/) itself. The pebble-collecting scene I imagined to be roundabouts between [Ffos Anoddun](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Ffos+Anoddun/@53.068794,-3.7888757,584m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m15!1m9!2m8!1sforest!3m6!1sforest!2sWales,+UK!3s0x486434b66c1c0fed:0x1ebb71bc8aa5e8a2!4m2!1d-3.7837117!2d52.1306607!3m4!1s0x0:0xb89066a14efd983d!8m2!3d53.0684647!4d-3.7875473?hl=en) and [Fairy Falls](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Fairy+Falls/@53.068794,-3.7888757,584m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m15!1m9!2m8!1sforest!3m6!1sforest!2sWales,+UK!3s0x486434b66c1c0fed:0x1ebb71bc8aa5e8a2!4m2!1d-3.7837117!2d52.1306607!3m4!1s0x48651572742ae4a9:0x6c0c594a6138fca1!8m2!3d53.0690787!4d-3.789091?hl=en), a beautiful area that was quite convenient to find for the plot.


End file.
